Chapter 34
Robert
I wave to Mom the next morning as she heads off to Goodwill with a trunk full of Dad’s clothes.
The sun is trying hard to warm the February air, but I’m still getting the occasional goose bumps on my arms. I stretch out my legs on the lawn chair for maximum warming. My eyes ache from crying last night, and I spare a moment to think about the dog who’d be happily munching on some kibble right now if I hadn’t been on the road. There’s nothing I can do to undo what happened. I whisper an I’m sorry to the sky, then I redirect my thoughts to Andrew and the sweet way he took care of me after it happened. I think I would have given anything to fall asleep in his arms last night.
30 crows in a field. Farmer shoots 4. How many in field now?
I have to squint to read his response: 4. All dead. Rest flew away. Too easy. 50 divided by a half?
100. Pls, you insult me.
He’s getting faster at his texting, so when the next one doesn’t come right back, I try to think of another puzzle. Before I can, my phone vibrates.
OK, smarty pants. What comes next in this pattern?
1
11
21
1211
111221
312211
13112221
Okay, that one’s hard.
I give.
Read aloud. Each line describes the one before. One one. Two ones. One two, one one. Got it?
That hurts my brain, but I got it.
Show off. T or F? I have webbed toes.
You do NOT have webbed toes. You have very sexy toes. T or F? I have camptodactyly.
I am intrigued.
Googling.
Camptodactyly. Bent pinkie fingers. Both hands. They bend inward, and I remember thinking once when I was standing at Andrew’s desk while he looked over something for me that playing a woodwind instrument might be a challenge because the keys are fixed and positioned for straight fingers. I’m not sure they could accommodate a bent pinkie. He would have to be brass or percussion. In any event, we are going to make music together, bent pinkie or not.
Yeah, about that . . .
LOL. Genetic. Kiki has it too.
A car coming up the street catches my eye. Ugh.
Nic in my driveway, 30 seconds. Pls advise.
Tell him to piss off. You belong to me.
Taylor Swift?
No. Andrew McNelis.
I smile and tuck my phone away as Nic pulls into the driveway, obstructing my view of the neighborhood. He can’t sour my mood though. There is nothing he can do or say that will bring me down from this cloud I’m floating on, despite the accident last night.
He gets out, adjusts his sunglasses, and stalks over to me.
“You’re seeing someone else.”
Nothing, except that.
I don’t respond. I don’t know what he knows, and I’m not going to fill in any gaps for him, so I say nothing.
“I can tell, you know, the way you’ve been all happy lately.” He’s got his fists on his hips and his weight on one leg the way he does. And he’s actually pouting. “So who is he?”
I breathe a quiet sigh of relief and shrug.
“Does he go to our school?”
Again, I say nothing.
“Is he hotter than me?”
I have to force my face to remain neutral because I so want to crack a smile.
“You’re doing this because you’re still mad at me, right? Okay, then I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t come to your dad’s funeral. I’m sorry I haven’t let you—you know. We’ll go out tonight. I’ll drive. We can go to a movie. We can, like, I don’t know, maybe hang around in my room afterward and make out.”
Even with his face half hidden by his sunglasses, he looks like he’d rather be doing anything but that. And for that I actually have to thank him. I’m glad we never went there. I’m glad I got to experience so many firsts with someone I’m crazy about, and not just with someone who would let me.
And I feel kind of sorry for Nic too. Although, I don’t really know why. He just seems kind of desperate for something, but he doesn’t really seem desperate for me. I decide to let him go gently.
“I’m not seeing anybody, Nic. I just don’t think we’re right for each other. You deserve somebody you really want to be with, and admit it, I’m not that guy.”
“But everyone thinks you dumped me,” he says.
I should have known. He doesn’t want to get back together with me because he likes me and misses me; he wants to get back together so he can be the dumper and not the dumpee. That almost pisses me off, but then I find it really kind of pathetic.
“If you want, I’ll tell everyone you dumped me. I’ll even try to look broken up about it.”
“You’d do that?” he says, pushing his sunglasses up on his head.
“Yeah.”
He shuffles around a bit and looks a little guilty. Then he shoves his hands in his pockets and lifts his shoulders. “Well, okay, then. I guess I’ll see you around.”
Yeah. Piss off.
He drives away, and I’m so glad Andrew didn’t insist I play that game. I’d sooner jab my eyes out with hot pokers.
Speaking of which, Andrew’s sent six messages in the time it took to unload Nic for good—all Lady Gaga lyrics. The last one: I want your psycho, your . . . you know.
I laugh and thumb in a reply.
Andrew
“Who are you texting?”
I’m sitting on the back deck soaking up some rays while Kiki plays in the little turtle sandbox I set up for her on her second birthday. I lay the screen flat on my stomach and look over my shoulder at Maya. She hands me a mug of coffee.
“Just a friend.”
“That’s an awful lot of texting for just a friend.” I drop my feet so she can have the other chair. “Is it your old friend or a new friend?”
I look at her and I see it. Jealousy. Hurt. She says she can handle our living together. She says we can have our separate lives. But she can’t, so we can’t. What was I thinking moving back in? Why did I think this time it would be different?
My phone vibrates on my stomach, but I ignore it.
“Maya, we need to talk.”
She presses her lips together and turns her gaze to Kiki, who is piling up mounds of sand, trying to build a hill, I guess.
“I’m sorry, but this isn’t working.”
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and closes her eyes for a moment, then turns back to me and smiles like she’s so fucking happy she can’t believe it. “Look, I don’t care if you have a boyfriend. I’m happy for you. Really. I just want to know about him. You’re acting so secretive about everything. I kinda feel left out, you know. You’re my best friend.”
“What about Doug?”
“What about Doug?” she replies. “It’s none of his business. He doesn’t own me.”
“No, but I think he cares about you a lot.” I want to give her an out. Not make this about the two of us. Not make this about her and what she is and isn’t doing that’s pushing me away again. “I think I’m just in the way. I should never have taken you up on your offer. Look, give me a couple of—”
“If this is about what happened the other morning—that was a total mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I promise you it won’t happen again.”
I try to protest but she keeps talking, intentionally fast, I think, so I can’t get a word in. And amazingly, in a matter of a couple of sentences, she transforms from the suspicious, possessive person of a few minutes ago to the Maya that I’ve loved for so many years.
“Look, I’m an idiot,” she says, leaning forward and clasping her hands around her mug. “It must have been some kind of flashback or something, but really, I don’t want you to go. I don’t like being here by myself, and I’m just not ready to make that kind of commitment to Doug. And Kiki really loves having you around. And I’m glad you’re dating, I really, really am. So, please, say you’ll stay. Please. For Kiki?”
Not fair. I look at my daughter. I see now she’s been building a bed for Spot. She lays him down on the mound a little roughly and shakes her finger at him. “You go sleep.”
“She didn’t get that from me,” I say to Maya.
She laughs.
Robert was right. I am being manipulated. I know that. There are negatives to staying, but there are positives, too, I tell myself. And then I hear myself agreeing to stay.
“Yay,” she cheers, her eyes bright. “Okay, so tell me about this mysterious guy. Things are working out after all, huh? What does he do?”
Shit. I wasn’t expecting to have to make up a plausible bio on the fly, and for a moment, I can’t think of a single occupation but my own, so what the hell. “He’s a teacher.”
“Yeah? Math too?”
“Um, no. Science.”
“Where’d you meet?”
Oh, man, if I’m going to make up a whole imaginary biography for this imaginary teacher friend, I’m going to have to keep it simple. I take a sip of coffee before answering. “School.”
“Your school?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s his name?”
“I’m not telling. Because then you’d just look him up in the faculty directory, and I’m really not willing to go there yet. We’re just kind of getting to know each other.”
“There can’t be that many hot, young, male teachers at school. Do you think I can’t figure it out on my own?”
Hadn’t really thought about that. “Okay, maybe he’s not at my school.”
“Are you kidding me? Why all the mystery here? You used to tell me everything.”
Not this time.
“What’s he texting you about?” she persists.
“Nothing much.”
“Come on, let me read a few.”
I level my gaze at her as I take my vibrating phone off my stomach and slide it into my pocket. She pushes out her bottom lip and pouts, just like Kiki does. That used to really get to me.
“You’re no fun,” she says. I think she realizes she’s pushing too hard. She settles back in her chair and takes a sip of her coffee and watches our daughter. “Can you believe she’s going to be three soon?”
“I know.” And I really am happy to be spending this time with her. But what I wouldn’t give to have my own place right now.
I study Maya’s profile. She’s beautiful, really. Strong, but pretty features, as if everything about her face is absolutely deliberate. It’s that Middle Eastern part of her that is both enhanced and softened by her Irish genes. Yet, no matter how often I’d wished that Maya and I could be a couple for Kiki’s sake, I couldn’t love her in that way.
And it strikes me, too, that no matter how much I fight it, I can’t not love Robert.
I try to calculate the number of days left in the school year. Too many. I’m getting that warm feeling inside thinking about him. I tell Maya I’m going to the bathroom and I’ll be back. This is one warm feeling I can’t just ignore.
You make it hard for me to be in public.
Ha, ha. I refuse to apologize for that!